Posts Tagged ‘Landry’

Babyhead Angst


03 Jun

babyheadsamplex

Originally published on June 3, 1996

So, what's new at the Dollhouse, you ask with a wink and a nod, knowing we had long moved in concentric circles, loathing the bourgeois claim we had clumsily staked, now preparing to collapse the dot, the vanishing point of another failed artist flogging the trapeze act, already in view...

Nothing new. Your name came up more times than Jesus Christ this weekend, but nearly always was answered with an I dunno, or a muffled uhmmm...

Yeah, Lynn is cool. I just don't know what to write her in response to the Babyhead show. It was an event worth noting if only for a few days. Frankly I hate critiquing others' work, especially in a genre where I haven't mustered up much myself in the way of surpassing or suppressing it. I liked the shows, but I was glad when the last one was over. I was nearly ready to bolt, already drunk, smoked, and tired from yet another long day saith the old man busking in dungarees. Tom Howell groveled over earlier in the day with a photography project he needed me to pull off, uh, taking a picture of a fat shiny tow chain he knew I had.

It was to be a typical Howell BIG PRODUCTION with bogus color-reflective transparency drag, but he pocketed a roll of film, and we staggered off to the Babyhead Festival together. Tim met Gigi on his bike. Tom already knew most of the actors, directors, and producers of the show. Safe to say, Lynn was about the only person he didn't know, yet I'm thinking he probably did meet her at Buck Downs place this past New Year's Day. Remember? We'd planned to walk the couple of blocks there after we left Wayne Curtin's absolutely weird houseblessing that evening, but I passed out instead, having had little sleep for several days prior...

Tom was struggling to comment on her work as we were waiting for food at this Sheesh Kabob joint in Georgetown after tiring of the reception at the Clark Gallery following the fest. Noticing he didn't want to slam her, I filled in the blanks with a typical GT gust of hot air...

"Uh Lynn is an attractive and very intelligent woman, but her acting skills are certainly not ready for prime time..." Tom interrupted with a quick sigh of relief, nodded his head furiously and said, "Yes, precisely!" Tom thought Buck was a natural, however.

I could say, "Oh I liked this." Or, "I liked that." But let's just leave it the way Tom put it: It's not like everybody in the audience would be back next week to watch these flicks again. Oh well, you know me; at the time I couldn't leave it at that. I countered his remark with a perspective-kissing, "Well, I don't think too many people there would line up to see A Few Good Men again a week later either. Tom was in gear high with his Talleyrand tongue, suggesting that the Vampires Suck video we did in 1985 had measured up to the standards we saw upon the screen this night, signalling a been there, done that attitude which I guess summed it all up for both of us. Sue of course didn't have much of anything to say on the subject. Thank God. I might have begged to differ.

Truth is I guess I don't know how to give or receive praise. You know the drill. No need to bark up that tree right now. And yes, I checked out the City Paper blurbs and your picture (which I barely recognize as you), but unless no one else sends you the CP, I won't.
The artsy-bosomed women at the Clark Gallery reception however were well worth the price of staring. I knew I had to escape that place soon before I got the urge to touch. This was the same gallery which showcased our pal Scott Farnum's little portraits of Bluegrass Greats last spring. Four by sixes framed, that's 24 square inches of rough little paintings depicting genuine hill folks like Bill Monroe and Roy Acuff for which he was asking over $400 a piece after he decided to pick up the paints following a weekend trip he'd made through the Virginia Smokeys down to Nashville. I made the throw away comment that perhaps they were a bit overpriced, and Scott went ballistic on me. "Why can't you just be happy for me!" he bellowed. I was more than jizzed for him, and would have been over the top jizzy had I been able to afford one. I muttered to Sue, backing several steps away from Scott, that I thought $75 might be a more encouraging price point, not aware the freshly jacked artist could hear me, but from his 350 pound girth he shot back, "I've got that much in the frame alone." Well, hell's bells, somebody must have seen this guy coming. Nice, flat black frames, rather common, and probably six bucks a pop, but that was it, so I quickly shuffled off to another section of the gallery, pulling my red-headed baby behind me. I always made a point of supporting my artist friends when possible, but others apparently had different methods of dealing with artistic or business criticism. Scott and his wife Amy never talked to us again after that night. And by the way, since I am forwarding this to Lynn, there is news Jack might be interested in: Big Dave Weist and Marcy Dewey, less than a year after marrying each other have split. Marcy has moved to California, uh, where I dunno, but that's the latest via the Quag...

Thanks Lynn for the truly spectacular performance. I did very much enjoy the night as my awkward nights tend to go. It's just pretty acolades don't roll off my tongue or even my keystroke finger as easily as bad beer slips down the old dry gullet. Truth is I guess I don't know how to give or receive praise. You know the drill. No need to bark up that tree right now. And yes, I checked out the City Paper blurbs and your picture (which I barely recognize as you), but unless no one else sends you the CP, I won't. Your fans will surely not let you down, buck or no buck.

GT

The Fillmore Was Much More Than An Acid Rock Shrine


31 May

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The Fillmore

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In response to the comments on my offhanded way of saying the Fillmore was sort of famous—I know what the Fillmore represented to the 60s and if you people really knew me you'd know that I don't really care about that. Especially anything associated with the Grateful Dead. When we were there, I wondered aloud to Jack what the Fillmore was BEFORE Leary and the Dead. I imagined jazz and dressed up ladies, Mambo music and dancers. My interest in SF was prior to the whiny baby boomer hippie types. I first really became interested in this city (aside from watching The Streets of San Francisco as a wee crawfish eater) when I read The Mediterraneans by Jack Kerouac. I liked the SF post war where rebels were hard to find and there were coffee houses and poetry and $.25 beers and Charlie Parker. I think ultimately the 60s "movement" won't amount to much in American intellectual history as the arrogant baby boomers want to believe. I think it was kind of interesting, but how much art and poetry do you remember of that particular time.

That's just one girl's opinion.

Hey—this guy Jack works with rode the bus with us this morning. He was kind of chatty in the surfer kind of way. He said that he was reading Burroughs last night and all of a sudden, his lens popped out of his glass frames. He thinks that there was some weird energy coming off of the Burroughs.

Trippy, dude.

Landry

The Price Of Hurling Stones, Tomatoes, and Sex Toys Into The Past


28 May

cadence

The Cadence

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Date: Tue, 28 May 1996 16:26:35
From: Lynn Landry

More interesting than getting drunk with a friend and having sex, is getting drunk years later and talking about it. Or dancing around the issue. OR starting and stopping. Having a past is SO MUCH FUN.

Gabriel, my friend Rob is having a Babyhead film festival at the Biograph on Saturday, June 1. He showing a few different videos. Two have me in them and it could be so embarassing, I may never enter the eastern time zone again. I don't have all the details, but I think it being shown around 9 or 10 pm. I will find out and let you and Sue know so you can heckle me.

Landry

Greetings To The Dollhouse


21 May

studio

Landry's San Francisco

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I like the dollhouse appellation for your house. Very appropo. Interesting analysis of Jack and his "can dish it out, but can't take it." It is something I am learning in our cohabitation. He's also very adept at making a good first impressions; then when you're hooked in, everything changes.

There have been some rough spots, but for the most part, things are going pretty well between us. And, I can't blame any troubles all on Jack because I have my own baggage to deal with that doesn't make me the most pleasant person in the world. I can be negative and I stress out about EVERYTHING. I have been trying to let some things slide but it ain't easy. It's kinda tough, when for so long all I had to think about was me. If I didn't have money or if I fucked something up, it was me and only me I had to answer too. Now I have to deal with someone else fucking up or me fucking them up. It's a little tough. Plus, I had to adjust to living with someone else. When we were in DC, it still felt like Jack was just a houseguest. It was still my place. That ain't the story anymore. But, in spite of the little failings, it is still a good thing. I'm not anywhere near hanging in the towel yet. I'm sorta ready for the long term thing. I just don't know if I really get into the relationship thing. I mean, it sounds nice, and I like the concept, but the reality has always been a problem for me. It's a growing up thing.

We don't have much in ways of furniture. We are finally at a financial peak where we have paid off the move costs and we are collecting our full paychecks, so we are ready to shop the yard sales of the SF queens. Those gay guys throw away or sell cheap some really nice stuff.

That reminds me, I was concerned about Jack's homophobia and somewhat racist attitude and how it was going to connect with this oh so PC city. But, he seems to be doing fine. The only people I knew living here are gay—two gay guys named Michael and Celso and one lesbian named Booooooo (has to be seven ohs). I think he is one of those people that only takes people on an individual basis. He seems to warm up to people pretty quick without making any judgment on them; yet he can't seem to work it out in his head that the stereotypes he believes to be true are a lot of times not.

I find too that the work environment is much more civilized here. People have a sense of humor about themselves and don't stomp around thinking they make the world go around. And, I don't have to listen to conservative assholes like at my last job. Here, I probably sound like Rush Limbaugh to some of these granola heads.
We do live in a somewhat "brotherly" neighborhood. A lot of guys like to walk by around 2 or 3am blasting their radios they have slung over their shoulders—I thought that big radio thing had gone out of fashion, guess not. They yell at each other in the streets a lot too. Some things are universal.

San Francisco is a frontier town in a lot of ways. It's like things on the east coast just didn't make it out here. Too far. Sorry, we don't have that here. I still like the town because of the more relaxed atmosphere and all that, but I appreciate DC a lot more. DC actually has a really active art culture that I just took for granted. And, in spite of the Nazis that have their grips on the taxes and government and stuff, DC is pretty hip and loose. However, I will never pine for another winter like the last one. The weather is fabulous, and I don't ever want to experience uncomfortable heat or cold again. I find that people don't get into much intellectual talk here, either. I miss that. Perhaps I just haven't found the niche yet. After all, those Beat Poets were here a long time ago. People seem to like mundane music, movies, etc. I don't understand it. There is more to life than just being laid back. There has to be some brain stimulil. I liked being able to get into it with my fellow DC-ers. I also miss the friends I left.

But, I am making more money and I paid off most of my debts, so I am now in the position to take some art classes and stuff and perhaps take some trips. I find too that the work environment is much more civilized here. People have a sense of humor about themselves and don't stomp around thinking they make the world go around. And, I don't have to listen to conservative assholes like at my last job. Here, I probably sound like Rush Limbaugh to some of these granola heads.

Anyway, I gotta get back to work. Write much. I'll read. I'll respond.

Landry

The Apple, The Worm, The Drip


08 May

new-york-apartment

New York Apartment

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As we both once thought true, Landry, Master Jack was the hoofer the the rest of our whole stinking gang suspected was going to fly higher than the laws of normalcy would usually allow, but somehow it always broke down with him. It wasn't me. I had signs to follow, my undoing I suppose. Concerning Jack's failure to rise above, I don't know why specifically, although a major contributing factor in my mind is that crack habit he's got. A consistant need to pound drugs is obviously bad news for most gonzos. And like most gonzos Jack feels immune to these special dangers, and always feels like he can rise above any problems just in the nick of time. But time is merciless, and all I'm saying is I hope Jack steers clear of most of that garbage out there in his new start. Yes, we had a little run in about that rabbit worm (and monkey) of his. He hasn't done it very often and I blew up so bad the last time to the point where he was obviously ashamed. If it happens again, I doubt I will give him a second chance. I just think it is throwing your money away in addition to being a waste of time. I'm at a stage in my life where I just don't want to deal with that crap no how any which way, zero tolerance, no more turning the cheek in allowing lurkers to run roughshod.

B Suzy and I are hopping the Amtrak up New York City this weekend to make the rounds with an old friend, Jennifer. Jack knows her at a distance. Up close, who knows anyone? We are each mere fractals of our true self.

Working on her doctorate in social anthropology—she just got notice of acceptance to Cornell—so she will be moving to Ithaca in upper state within a few weeks. The past two years at the New School have left at the freezeline of parental support, but this Cornell package carries with it an $8K annual stipend, so she's set for pocket flash, but observes the town of Ithaca as an eerie hovel, full of strange hippy looking people, no strip malls, no 7-11s, nothing but a few docile streets, a couple of schools, and hills to kill for if one happened to be a skate punk. She's not, however, and without a car, is already sweating the cold icy strides up and down those inclines, fretting she'll hate it, if she survives it.

Such are the crass ironies of a well-circulated life, eh Landry? Hope all this psychodrip suits you. It’s what I do when I write, and when I am alone wrestling with my thoughts, or wife. My style often takes the form of a complaint. But in all honesty, I just want a live that suits me, just like everybody else. Unfortunately…
Jennifer is still rather gothic in appearance and outlook, can't squelch the hipsterific riot grrrl stirring inside her, although she's embraced an academic mindset, is quite the scholar, dean's list et al, and seething to escape the stranglehold of her past. This weekend should be fantastic now that the heat wave in which we suffered 95-100 degree weather for three days straight has pissed off and new highs in the low 70s are expected. Her lower Lex Ave walk-up of course is slack on AC, and I suppose you don't have one either. I understand there are few of them on the SF Bay. But here at the Dollhouse climate control is ALWAYS a cool calculation.

Well, gotta go start some dinner. I'm blackening some salmon steaks tonight, although Tim is chewing top sirloin because he avoids seafood. The lad pays us a flat rate per as a dinner guest, so if living here boosts Tim's self-esteem and his sense of responsibility a notch or two as he claims and keeps him off heroin as he says it is doing, then I suppose we can all feel grateful that this particular opportunity knocked. His extra money helps keep us on monthly budget and out of hock, so it seems to be working all around, although of course I've had to stand firm on a few principles Tim would conveniently fail to understand, but I should brag in his name that these moments have been few thus far. I guess he's been here eight weeks on Friday. Jack only lasted three days when he returned from Germany, frying my patience before he bolted up to Diane and Adrian's to squander his small forture with them.

Such are the crass ironies of a well-circulated life, eh Landry? Hope all this psychodrip suits you. It's what I do when I write, and when I am alone wrestling with my thoughts, or wife. My style often takes the form of a complaint. But in all honesty, I just want a live that suits me, just like everybody else. Unfortunately...

GT

S A M P L E X

"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""


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